Nightmare
by TimbreWuulf
Summary: The banshee reared up in front of me, it's body reminiscent of a beautiful woman, with seared, blackened eyes and long, skinless, bone-clawed fingers. It struck forward as I started to struggle away, and sank It's claws into my shoulders. I screamed, and realized my mistake a moment too late.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, when I first uploaded this one, I was kind of in a hurry. So I've gone back and split it up into chapters for easier reading. **

**This one gives a first look into Ace's past a bit, and tells a bit about what makes her the way she is. It's dark, and violent in some places.**

**So if you can't handle things like abuse, or violence toward a child, proceed at your own risk. :/**

**Wing, North Dakota**

"Dammit Ace! Get back here!"

"Dean it's fine! I can see, just hold on a sec."

"No! I can't fit in there, and you're not going alone!"

"It'll be okay. I've got the shotgun. I'll scream if something happens, kay?"

I didn't hear what he said to that, because I was already creeping off around the corner. The tunnel had to lead somewhere, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was in here.

My flashlight beam bobbed as I dodged obstacles, climbing over rocks and bending past pillars of treated cedar. We were inside an old mine shaft, hunting down a banshee. Nested up in some tiny backwater in North Dakota.

At least I'd convinced Dean to go visit Bobby when we were done. I smiled at the thought, that would be interesting. Bobby had threatened to pull a gun on Dean last time we were there. This visit should prove to be fun.

Ahead of me there was a clatter of rocks. I ducked behind a pillar, clicking my flashlight off, and breathed slowly through my mouth. A scraping told me that something was working it's way toward me and I held my breath, heart pounding.

"Ace?" I nearly jumped at the sound of my name, whispered from the direction of the perceived threat.

"Sam?" I rasped, clicking my flashlight to life and peering around the pillar. He grinned at me from his hands and knees.

"C'mon, the tunnel widens out up here. Dean's waiting." he said, gesturing behind him with his head. I smiled and started toward him, when his eyes widened and he gasped. I spun around, losing my balance and toppling to the floor.

The banshee reared up in front of me, it's body reminiscent of a beautiful woman, with seared, blackened eyes and long, skinless, bone-clawed fingers. It struck forward as I started to struggle away, and sank It's claws into my shoulders.

I screamed, and realized my mistake a moment too late. The banshee opened a gaping maw, lined with razor edged teeth, and I felt my scream and my breath being drawn into it's mouth, taking my strength with it. I tried to turn away, tried to crawl back toward Sam, but my body wouldn't move.

Sam gave a shout and a blast of rocksalt hit the banshee square in the face, silencing my scream as it's hold on me was broken. My body collapsed, my vision blackened around the edges, and I struggled to move away from the creature, floundering uselessly. I couldn't breathe right, my diaphragm jumping erratically, making me gasp unevenly.

Above me I could see a fight ensuing, Sam lunging across me and slashing at the banshee with an iron blade. He caught it across the chest and deep violet blood spilled over the stones. The banshee shrieked, falling back, and Sam jabbed at it, catching a lucky shot and impaling it in the chest, right where the heart should have been.

It crumbled into dust, and the knife landed tip first in the pile left behind. But Sam didn't notice, he was bending over me, grabbing me up in his arms, brushing my hair back from my face.

"Ace? Say something!" he murmured anxiously, staring into my foggy, colorless eyes. There was a build up of pressure in my chest, and it had my whole body aching.

"H...urts..." I breathed, managing to reach up and grab hold of his shirt sleeve.

"Where? Where does it hurt, Ace?" he asked, maneuvering around so he could get us both out of the cramped tunnel.

"Ever...where..." I whispered, clenching my eyes shut against a throb of pain and curling my fist in his shirt fabric.

"Stay awake Ace! C'mon, open your eyes!" he coaxed, when my grip started to loosen.

"S'mmy...m'tired..." I breathed and he gave me a jolting shake that had me crying out and wide awake.

"No, you stay with me." he ordered, finally standing straight and practically jogging.

"Dean!" he yelped with relief, and I bit my lip. Dean. He would be pissed.

"Ace?!" the older Winchester barked, and I flinched, inhaling sharply through my teeth.

"D'n...m'sorry...I din' m'n tuh..." he silenced me with a hand on my cheek, and I gazed blearily up at him.

"It's okay. You'll be alright. Don't freak out, okay?" he said softly, though a little gruffly

"Here Sam, give'er to me. You go run and get the car started." he said, trading Sam a shotgun and the keys for me. Sam gave a quick nod and took off at a sprint. Dean hefted me easily, and for a moment I was grateful I was almost a foot and a half shorter than him.

"We don't feed you enough..." he commented at my meager hundred and fifteen pounds. I sighed, resting my cheek on his collarbone, my arm around his neck.

"M'fine..." I breathed, and started to drift off.

"Yeah...Girls aren't supposed to be heavy anyway." he joked, and I smiled as darkness swallowed my world.

I woke alone, in a bed, and immediately was wide awake. Although still a little hazy.

"D'n?" I breathed, and felt the bed shift behind me. I rolled over to see him watching me with concern. I sighed in relief and reached out to him. He helped me over to him and I settled against his side, my arm around his waist and my head on his chest. I felt myself falling right back to sleep and sighed.

"Th'nks D'n..." I mumbled and he chuckled.

"You got it kiddo." He replied, carding his fingers through my hair softly.


	2. Chapter 2

My own rasping breathing woke me next and I shivered, digging deeper underneath the blankets someone had thrown over me. I caught a few strands of hushed conversation from the other side of the room and frowned, listening a little harder.

"I don't like this, Dean. That Banshee had hold of her for a good minute! And now this? She could be really sick!" Sam was saying, his voice plaintive. There was a rustle of movement and a harsh sigh.

"I know...but what are we supposed to do Sam?" Dean replied, and as he spoke he got closer to me.

"How 'bout a hospital?" Sam snapped, his tone suggesting the answer should have been obvious.

"You think a doctor is gonna be able to fix this?" Dean demanded, and Sam made a noise, like he'd been about to retort and thought better of it. For a moment it was silent, and I rolled over, trying in vain to get more comfortable. And then my eyes shot open as I felt the telltale signs of nausea starting up in my mouth and stomach. I struggled to sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed one at a time, and met a wall as I stood.

"Woah! Hey, you need to stay in bed, Ace." he yelped, and I grabbed his arms, pushing against him.

"D'n!" I gasped, swallowing thickly, and he bent over me with a concerned frown.

"What is it?" he murmured, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. I could feel the color draining from my face.

"M..m'gna hurl..." I warbled out, lurching forward off the bed and stumbling across the room. I could see the bathroom just ahead and I lunged inside awkwardly, skidding to a stop on my knees just as the pressure on the bottom of my tongue started up. And then I was heaving up all the nothing I'd had to eat over the last few hours, my face buried in the toilet. There was a pause and I gasped, falling limp against the commode. A warm hand on my back made me pick my head up. I looked around and Dean grimaced down at me.

"M'sorry, Dean..." I murmured, dropping my head back in the toilet.

"Don't worry about it. At least you made it to the bowl." he joked, and I sniffled, chuckling softly.

"Yeah." I replied, and my stomach heaved again. Nothing came up and I coughed, groaning.

"We need to get some food in you. This isn't healthy." Dean mused, causing me to I groan again, shaking my head and clearing my hair away from my face.

"No." I whined, just the thought of food had my stomach churning dizzily.

"C'mon, Ace. You gotta eat something." he said, rubbing a circle between my shoulder blades.

"No." I moaned, my breath shuddering in and out like a saw blade. He sighed harshly and ran a hand across my shoulders, resting it at the nape of my neck.

"You haven't eaten in three days, Ace." he murmured, and I sighed. I hadn't realized I'd been out for so long. Reaching out, I flushed the toilet and then grasped at mid-air, searching out a towel. Dean gave a quiet chuckle and I felt one of the scratchy bits of fabric press to my fingers.

"T'nks." I mumbled, wiping my face clean. When I finally looked up at him his eyes tightened at the corners worriedly.

"Fine...I'll eat somthin'." I muttered, and started to climb to my feet. I lost my balance half way up, and Dean shot to his feet, his arm around my waist to catch me.

I sagged against him, my body too tired to even hold itself up, and he led me out into the motel room. Sam stood next to the doorframe, leaning against the wall. As we came out he glanced at us and pushed off the wall, concern flashing across his face. Dean tipped his head toward the small kitchenette and Sam nodded once before setting off for the fridge. I watched in disinterest as he pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured a glass. It was my favorite, and I always asked for it, especially when I didn't feel good. He set it down on the small table as I dropped into the chair and I smiled at him. Might as well play along.

A little while later, after I had dutifully swallowed down a fourth of my glass of orange juice, Sam set a bowl of tomato and rice soup in front of me with two pieces of toast. Then he went around cleaning up after himself, and I stared at the bowl in front of me, spoon in hand.

The first bite was the hardest. My body was so convinced that it did not want food, that the very idea of eating was physically rejected. But I swallowed. And the soup settled so well that I took another bite. Pretty soon it was all gone, toast too. And I wasn't so nauseous anymore.

The orange juice, on the other hand, was still in question, and I picked it up with still shaky hands. Halfway to my lips I thought better of it and climbed to my feet. Dean and Sam watched from the other side of the room as I wobbled to the sink and upended the juice. In my peripheral vision I saw Sam's eyebrows meet in the middle.

I rinsed the cup and filled it with cool water, using it to wash out my mouth before I left the sink. Then I started to make my way back to bed, but only made it a couple of steps before my gelatinous knees gave up their frail support. I fell back against the counter and slipped to the floor, my cup somehow miraculously safe in my hands.

"Ace?" Dean barked, already halfway across the room with Sam right behind him. I looked up at him as he reached down to pick me up and made a face.

"M'okay." I grumbled, glancing at my knees in consternation. Dean smirked and hauled me to my feet, keeping one arm around me for support. I let Sam take my glass and Dean walked me to my bed, his grip never loosening until I was safe under the blankets.

"Th'nks D'n." I mumbled, burrowing into the pillows. He smiled.

"No problem Kiddo." he said softly, and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

We watched TV for a while, but it was awkwardly silent, and I couldn't focus on the show, drifting in and out of consciousness. After about an hour of me turning and tossing Dean nudged me over, settling against the headboard. I relaxed against his side and he sighed.

"Better?" he asked and I nodded, curling my fingers in his shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

I stood frozen in a doorway. One that I recognized, but I'd never wanted to see again. My brother Jake stood in front of me, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at our father with hatred in his eyes.

"Get outta the way! I wanna talk to the little one!" The man snarled, and I flinched, my tiny hands bunching in the bottom of my shirt. My mind spun frantically, what had I done this time? Why was he always so angry at us?

"I don't think so old man." Jake spat venomously, and I reached out a tentative hand, tugging at his shirt-back. He didn't look away from our father, but he reached back with one hand and nudged me away.

"Go on, Ally. It'll be okay." he murmured, and I stumbled back a step, biting my lip. Father lunged forward, hands fisting in Jake's shirt collar, and I yelped, turning to flee to safety.

"I say move, you move!" I heard father yell, and Jake grunted in pain as fist connected with flesh. Father hit him a few more times, and I heard him slump to the floor, unconscious. I whimpered, and ran again.

I made it outside the back door before he caught up to me. Swooping down on me like hungry bird. I couldn't help it.

I screamed.

He cuffed me on the back of the head hard enough to send white lights streaming across my vision, and I gasped, wobbling on suddenly unsteady knees. I felt him pick me up, carrying me somewhere, but I couldn't tell where. Until I heard the chains knocking against each other.

My blood ran cold.

The basement.

"NO!" I cried, thrashing in his arms. He grabbed at my face, covering my mouth and nose roughly. I screamed into his hand, clawing at it and managing to uncover my nose so I could breath. My eyes widened in terror as we descended into the dark, and my whole body jerked as the door slammed shut behind us.

An old, yellowed light flickered to life above us, illuminating a stained workbench below a wall mount of tools and contraptions made of metal and wood. I thrashed again, tears starting up in my eyes.

Father carried me over to it and threw me down, reaching under the table and bringing up a metal cuff. He shackled my right wrist and fought me for another five minutes to shackle my left and my feet. All the while trying to silence me with threats.

When he reached up and pulled some deadly looking contraption off the wall I quieted to a whimper, scooting away as far as I could.

"This is what happens to bad little children..." he sneered, strapping the contraption over my right hand. It forced my palm flat, splaying my fingers. I stared at it with wide eyes and trembled.

"Why?" I whimpered, looking up at him.

"What'd I do?" I asked, choking back a sob. He didn't answer, instead reaching forward and taking hold of a crank that sat in the center of the square contraption. He gave it a twist and something sharp bit into the palm of my hand. With a gasp I started screaming, sobbing against the onslaught of pain.

"Daddy no!" I cried. I didn't know why I still called him that, he didn't really deserve it. With a vicious growl he gave it another turn, and the sharp thing penetrated my flesh, grinding into my bones with a gut clenching crunch.

"NO! PLEASE!" I screamed, writhing, struggling to pull my hand away.

"You. Will. LEARN!" he ground out, twisting with each word. I screamed until my head ached and my chest was sore. He dropped my hand, an iron spike run through and out the back of it. He was reaching for something else when the inside door burst open and my brother stumbled in.

"Get away from her!" he snarled, brandishing a baseball bat.

Father's hand came away from the wall with a knife and my eyes widened. Jake ran at him and Father stepped back, giving himself room. He dodged the bat and sliced forward, the knifes tip heading straight for Jakes heart. I clenched my eyes shut, my heart pounding, and screamed.

"Jake! NO!"


	4. Chapter 4

Dean would have rather faced another Banshee than try to reason his way out of a Sam bitch-athon at that point. So he treaded up the stairs and was mentally going back over the little bit of info he'd found when he heard a noise. Given that in the life of a hunter, a noise usually means something bad, he paused. His instincts clicking into high alert as he scanned the house around him.

To his left was a closet, stuffed with random odds and ends of the hunting variety. And to his right a slightly opened door led into Ace's room. He heard the sound again and pushed her door open, peering in.

The bed creaked and the blankets rustled as she rolled over, and a small sound of pain reached him. Frowning, he stepped in, crouching next to the bed.

"Ace?" he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. She flinched violently under his touch and turned her face away, murmuring incoherently. He caught a few words, including one he'd never heard her use before. She turned toward him, her face twisted in anguish, and he clenched his teeth.

"Daddy...please! No!" she breathed, clenching her right hand and whimpering. He put his hand out, cupping her face and rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. It came away wet with tears.

"Ace. Wake up." he said, tapping her cheek lightly. She cried out quietly, jerking out of his touch, and rolled onto her back. Dean stood, reaching out to shake her. Suddenly, she gasped, exploding upwards.

"Jake! NO!" she cried, and her arms flew out to the side, eyes snapping open. Her chest heaved and she scrambled backward, ramming backfirst into the headboard. Her arms curled around her knees and she hid her face, sobbing quietly.

Dean sighed softly, easing himself onto the bed next to her. She jumped, her arms tightening around herself.

"Hey, it's okay." he said softly, and she peeked over at him. She sniffled, wiping her face.

"Dean?" she breathed, and he gave her a soft smile, nodding. Suddenly he found himself with an armful of sobbing teenager as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

"I don't wanna sleep anymore, Dean!" she gasped, clenching her hands in his shirt. He wrapped her in his arms, shushing her and rocking her gently.

"I don't wanna dream." she whispered, and her arms slid down to wrap around herself.

"I don't wanna remember..." she breathed, her fingernails biting into her arms.

"Hey. Don't...don't do that.." he murmured, gently prying her hands open and closing his over them. Her grip tightened reflexively and she jumped as someone knocked at the door. Dean glanced up, relieved to find Sam standing in the doorway.

"Hey Sammy." he said, and his towering younger brother tread lightly into the room, crossing to the other side of the bed.

"What happened?" he murmured, climbing up next to them.

"Nightmare. I think." Dean replied, and Ace put her hand to the side of her head with a cringe. Her right hand flexed, like it hurt, and Sam's face softened in sympathy.

"Ace?" he murmured, reaching out to cover her hand with his. She flinched, and blinked up at him, giving him a trembling smile.

"Hey, Sam..." she mumbled, and he saw her flinch again, a yelp catching in her throat. Dean shifted and Sam felt his jaw clench. He knew how bad nightmares could be, and what kinds of memories they could dredge up.

"Stay with us, Ace." he said, giving her hand a squeeze. She jerked and her eyes focused on his face. Nodding, she took in his messy hair and the soft pants and shirt he was wearing.

"I...I woke you?" she murmured, and he nodded with a wry smile.

"M'sorry, Sam." she croaked, her face twisting with guilty tears. He shushed her, shaking his head.

"It's fine. I got eight hours." he assured her, and she gave him a hint of a smile.

"You sure?" she mumbled, and he nodded again, taking his hand back and glancing at his brother. The dark circles and bloodshot veins in his eyes told him that Dean had yet to close his eyes for longer than it took to blink in a long time.

"I think Dean could use some sleep though." he chuckled, and his brother gave him a loathsome look. Ace glanced up at Dean with a remorseful expression, and he sighed.

"He's right. I was on my way to bed." he admitted grudgingly, and Ace bit her lip.

"M'sorry..." she mumbled, and slid out of his lap, settling between them and curling against the headboard. Dean ran a hand through his hair, gazing at her, hesitant to leave.

"Don't worry. I've got her." Sam said, and he nodded, easing off the bed and trudging out of the room.

I could still see the blood on my hand, still feel the spike shifting against my bones. Sam put his arm around my shoulders and I let him pull me against his chest.

"It's not real Ace." he murmured, taking hold of my hand. I glanced up at him.

"But it was real." I said, choking on a fresh batch of tears, "That really happened once..." He sighed softly, leaning back against the headboard.

"But it won't ever happen again." he assured me, and I laid my head on his shoulder, watching the open doorway.

"I hope you're right." I whispered, and he chuckled.

"I am. I promise." he replied.

I closed my eyes, exhausted.


	5. Chapter 5

I couldn't breath. But he knew that. The belt around my throat tightened and I let out my last bit of air, wasting it on an involuntary sob. My fingers scrabbled at the braided leather cord, the skin of my cuticles splitting and bleeding. He laughed, dark and sadistic, and dragged me off the floor by the slack of the belt, forcing me to look at him.

His grin stilled my heart, ice in my veins, and my eyes rolled in my skull, my body starting to feel heavy.

How did I get here?

What did I do this time?

Did I even have to do something?

"What's wrong little bird? Cat got your tongue? I asked you a question!" he spat, and I grit my teeth, wedging my fingertips between the belt and my skin.

So that's what it was.

I hadn't spoken up.

Another choked sob rasped in my throat and the blood started to pound in my ears.

If I don't breath soon...

"Ace! Wake up!"

Someone shook me, hard. I fought toward consciousness, floundering.

"C'mon! Breathe dammit!"

There was pressure on my chest. A pounding that reverberated through each rib individually. I gasped, fighting toward wakefulness, and someone sighed, swearing. And then I was being squeezed by thick, strong bands, trapped, smothered. My breath came quicker and my eyes shot open as I started to fight free.

"No!" I cried, pushing myself away from my captor and tumbling head over heels onto the hardwood floor. I scrambled clumsily to my feet, swaying violently, and backed into the corner, my arms up defensively. They followed me, faster than my eyes could follow, and I flinched with a sobbing cry.

"Don't! Please don't!" I begged, covering my head, "Don't hurt me anymore!" They stopped and their hands dropped to their sides, but I'd seen this trick before, and I didn't drop my guard.

Dean felt his heart start to break as he stared at his little sister, shivering and pleading in the corner. Only moments before she hadn't even been breathing, he'd had Resuscitate her.

Now she was terrified, and when she begged him not to hurt her...

His jaw clenched.

"Ace. It's me. It's Dean." he murmured, and she flinched. Slowly her head turned from side to side.

"No. No, Dean. He wouldn't!" she mumbled, and sobbed pressing herself against the wall.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Ace, please. Come here." he murmured, reaching out to her. She stiffened in fear, gazing wide-eyed at his hand. Her lips continued to move, and he could hear her whispering. He took a step toward her, frowning in confusion, and she whimpered, turning her back to him.

He moved to her side and listened as her muttering grew louder.

"Not Dean. Not Dean. Not Dean, Not. Dean. Not Dean not Dean." She let out a sob and went on, and his fist clenched.

"Ace. It is me." he murmured, settling his hand on the nape of her neck. She froze, gasping, and trembled under his touch.

"You had a nightmare again. It wasn't real." he whispered and she peeked over at him. He felt his expression start to melt at the pure cold fear in her eyes.

"D-Dean..." she breathed, and turned halfway toward him. He nodded and smiled shakily. Slowly she turned and tucked herself against his chest.

Then she started to shake with sobs, and he wrapped her in his arms, burying a hand in her hair. Shushing her, he carried her back to her bed, clambering up and leaning against the headboard as he held her.

"Dean, don't let him hurt me anymore! Please!" she begged, her tiny fists clenched in his shirtfront. He shushed her again, tightening his arms around her, reminding her she was safe.

"No one's hurting you. I promise." he tried to reassure her, but she shook her head.

"He hates me! He wants me to die, I know it!" she went on, oblivious to her brother's gentle coddling.

"Who? Ace, who does?" he demanded, wiping tears from her cheeks and trying to catch her eye. She hicupped, sniffling and dragging her fist across her eyes.

"Daddy does!" she sobbed, hiding her face in his shoulder. He froze, his blood running cold. This wasn't his eighteen year old sister. Physically yes, but mentally Ace was a child again.

A child who feared torture from her own father.

He grit his teeth and hugged her close.

"I won't let him touch you. I promise." he growled, resting his cheek against her temple. She clung to his neck and cried, slowly quieting, safe in his arms.

"Well, I got good news, an' I got bad news." Bobby explained, and Dean jumped at the promise of new info.

"And?" he prompted, and Bobby pulled off his hat to scratch at his sparse hair.

"Good news is, it ain't no Banshee." he replied, and Dean almost sighed, but the implied meaning made him tense up.

"And the bad news?" beside him, Sam sat forward, his face pulled up tight in concern. Bobby sighed forlornly and Dean closed his eyes, waiting for the punch.

"It's something worse. A Nightmare. Creature that feeds off pain, fear, and hatred." he explained, and Dean ran his hand down his face, covering his mouth a moment.

"It's wearin Ace down fast. She ain't gonna last much longer."

"How do we kill it?" Dean demanded and Bobby shuffled a few papers on his desk.

"Well, there's some lore that says you can use a severed unicorn horn. Or...the person affected has to kill it in the dream." he explained, not looking too excited with either idea. The Winchester boys looked at each other, exchanging equal expressions of chagrin and anger.

"How's she supposed to fight something she doesn't even know is there?!" Dean demanded of no one in particular, and Sam shook his head, his face determined.

"There has to be something else we can do." he muttered glancing at Bobby, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged, sighing.

"Know any unicorns?" he asked blandly.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean came back into the room. I didn't know how long he'd been gone, or what time of the day it even was. He entered slowly, eyeing me like I would startle at any quick movement. I watched his approach from my peripheral vision, my gaze locked on the opposite wall.

Sluggishly, as if my eyes were coated in a slimy film, I blinked. And flinched when I felt the mattress dip underneath his weight, my eyes flying open and swiveling around to land on his face.

"How you holding up?" he asked, his voice quiet and rough, and I stared at him as the question sank through the various filters and firewalls in my mind. I shrugged minutely and frowned slightly as a tiny pinch of pain registered at the edge of my consciousness.

At what seemed like an almost glacial pace, my right hand travelled up my left arm and settled just below my shoulder, my fingers curving automatically. Pain flickered again, and I pursed my lips.

Dean had watched this whole procession dispassionately, his mind on other things. But as my expression took on it's familiar nuances, he frowned and looked closer. Pulling my hand away, he glanced at my fingertips and leaned over me, turning my left arm toward him roughly and scowling agitatedly.

"Dammit Ace! What are you doing?" he snapped, and my eyes narrowed. What was I doing? What was he doing?

I tried to yank my arm away, but only managed a soft tug that barely inched it from his grasp.

"What've you...been clawing at yourself? Your arm looks like ground meat!" he went on, searching for something to blot at the wound with. I frowned deeply, what was he talking about? I was just sitting here, watching the wall.

"No..." I spat, and it came out a murmur. He paused and glanced at me, seeing the confusion and indignance on my face. His jaw clenched and he snatched a clean shirt from a bedside drawer, pressing it to the wound. I watched him wind the light blue fabric around my arm with a lethargic feeling.

"You didn't do this?" he asked, and I started to shake my head. Then I paused, realizing I had no idea if I did or not, and shrugged instead. He tied off the makeshift bandage and sighed, dropping his hands to his knees. I glanced at him from behind a curtain of my hair and caught a hint of anguish in his eyes.

"What...?" I mumured, turning to look at him with my head tilted, and reaching up to brush my fingertips over the worry lines on his forehead. He caught my hand, pressing my fingers to his cheek. Then he pressed a hand to my head, then my cheeks.

"You're cold." he muttered, and stood, fussing over the blankets. I watched him, waiting for him to answer my question. When he'd settled three quilts over me he sat down again and I grabbed his hand. He glanced over and I frowned at him expectantly.

"What aren't you telling me?" I demanded, my voice quiet and breathy. He clenched his jaw and looked away, and I felt a quiver of fear scale my spine.

"There's...some...thing...attatched to you. A Nightmare. It's..." he choked off, and I leaned toward him. I gave his arm a tug and he looked at me, eyes wet.

"It's killing you Ace..." he breathed, his voice rough and tight with emotion. My blood ran cold and my vision went unfocussed. For a moment I forgot to breath, and my heart paused a beat. Then it kicked back into gear, pounding against my ribs painfully as I panted harshly.

"Wh...How...?" I gasped, shaking violently. Dean moved up next to me, pulling me against his chest and stroking my hair soothingly. I clung to him, letting my fear play itself out until I could finally get control of myself.

"H...how do we kill it?" I asked quietly, and he laughed softly. Leaning back to look down at me, he smiled shakily and kissed my forehead.

"That's the spirit." he said, and I smirked half-heartedly.

"So...I have to kill it..." I mumbled, and Bobby nodded, watching me worriedly.

"Fraid so." he replied, and I sighed. I was too tired for this, even though I should've seen that coming. I had pretty much brought this down on myself. But I was going on my third day without sleeping, and I was starting to feel it. I rubbed one gritty eye until the other started to go black as well and then took another swig of coffee. Next to me Dean sighed minutely and I cut my eyes at him.

"The only way you can fight it is if you're asleep." he remarked and I snorted into my cup.

"And the only way I'm going to fight it, is if I know how." I spat and turned back to Bobby. He smirked and handed over a book, flimsy with dog-eared pages.

"It's the fifth page marked." he explained, and I flipped through until I found it. Perusing the page I rubbed my eye again, swigging coffee and blinking away the blur.

"What's a Subtle Knife?" I mused, frowning up at Bobby, and he scratched his head.

"Well...it's a dream blade, basically. It's a knife that goes into the dream with you. It was thought up by some yahoo, decided dreams were played out in an alternate, parallel dimension, or some nonsense." he explained.

I smirked, and Dean cleared his throat, glancing at Sam across the room. Sounded a bit like someone had been playing around with a little too much African Dream Root.

"Anyway, outside the dream the thing just looks like a carved up stick or something. But inside, well it's basically excalibur." Bobby finished, rifling through his papers and showing the three of us a sketch of an antler carved with symbols and somewhat resembling a blade. I tilted my head at it, pulling a face.

"So. Where do we get one?" I asked, my head was starting to feel really heavy. It was becoming a chore not to let it loll from side to side. Bobby dropped the sketch back onto the pile and smiled dryly.

"Smithsonian." he replied, and Sam's jaw dropped.

"The museum?!" he laughed, and Dean rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Alright Sammy. Don't geek out on me now. This is strictly buisiness, no sightseeing." he retorted. I smirked and Sam glared at him, indignant.

"Don't start you two. Now, I tracked it down to the arctic exhibit. But you guys gotta go get it. Somethin tells me little sister here can't make the drive." Bobby cut in, before it could get messy. For a minute it didn't strike me, what he had said. But the boys froze, staring back at him. Slowly, his words sank in, and I jerked upright, swaying drunkenly as I gazed at the older man.

"Bobby...we never said she was our sister..." Sam murmured, and the old man glared at him.

"Boy, you think I was born yesterday? Why else would you two be so worried about her? 'Sides, if she ain't a child a John Winchester then I'm the queen of England." he retorted, and Dean chuckled, nudging me. I grinned, but keeping my eyes open was getting hard, and it broke on a yawn.

"Now, I suggest you two hit the road. It's a long drive and we're short on time." Bobby went on gruffly, and Sam stood. Dean lingered a moment, glancing at me worriedly, and I smiled dopily.

"Don'worry 'bout me. 'Mfine." I murmured, and leaned over to hug him. I slumped in his arms instead, dizzy.

"Oops..." I muttered, and he snorted, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Careful Ace." he murmured, and I gave him a smile and a thumbs up. Then I pinched his nose, making a little 'Boop' noise. He stared at me a moment, his expression blank, then he stood and left the room.

"Bye-bye." I called, waving at his back as I swayed back and forth. I had moved from grumpy to goofy, which meant I would black out soon. I was almost thinking coherently enough to realize I should be afraid to fall asleep. Almost.

Sam chuckled and leaned down, kissing me on the top of my head and brushing a hand through my hair.

"Seeya Ace. Be good." he said, and I nodded.

"Go find that deer horn. I got this." I replied, pointing toward the window. He smirked as he left, and I let my arm fall to the couch.

"M'checkinout Bobby." I informed him and my eyes rolled up in my head, my body going limp as consciousness left me behind.


	7. Chapter 7

It was pitch dark and there was no sound. So figuring out where the heck I was seemed impossible.

Experimentally, I reached out to either side, hearing a dampened rattle of chains as I moved.

My stomach flipped over.

Chains meant basement.

Trembling, I curled up, tucking my chin to my chest and pulling my knees to my chin, my arms covering my head. Not far from me something scraped across the floor, and I heard a moan, low and gurgling. A shiver ran down my back and I bit my lip to fight down a hysterical whimper, my eyes widening. Another scrape, another moan, this one slightly closer.

A faint glow from across the room finally shed some light, and I stole a peek at the other thing in the room with me. It was exactly as I remembered it, and I thought my heart would stop under the rush of fear I felt.

At one point she'd been beautiful. I knew that from the pictures I'd found, buried in a box underneath the basement stairs. Her softly curled hair had been dark, chocolate brown, and her radiant skin had been only a few shades lighter. With bright blue eyes and long dark lashes, a softly curved nose and full lips. She'd been every man's dream.

And she'd been every woman's envy.

Maybe that's what happened to her.

Maybe someone got fed up.

I stared at her, my eyes wide, frozen in terror, as she dragged herself toward me with her one good arm. The other was gone from the mid-bicep down, the flesh hanging in tatters where it had been ripped free.

Her gorgeous face was no more, marred by gouges and blackened burns. The left half was slightly normal, with minimal damage save a cut under her eye.

The right half, however, was like something out of a horror film. The entire jawline was exposed, and the empty eyesocket oozed viscous blood and trailed the optic nerve. Parts of her skull showed, stark white against her dark skin. Her once flowing hair was now chopped, burned, and torn away.

She opened her mouth to speak, and a gurgling moan emerged. Her throat sported an incision down the center, empty where her vocal chords had been ripped out.

It was clear she didn't die quickly, some of the visible damage showed scar tissue and scabs. I couldn't blame her for being angry. But I hadn't done anything to deserve this, and I didn't want to die. I was just a kid.

And I was terrified.

Tearing my gaze away, I clenched my eyes shut and curled tighter on myself, trembling violenly as I tried not to make a sound. The thumping, scraping sound of her progress across the floor paused, and I peered over. With a startled gasp, I fought not to jump and failed. She was right next to me, good eye turned toward me, jaw hanging open slightly, staring at me. Waiting.

And when I jumped, it was the signal she'd been waiting for.

With an animalistic sound, she reared up on the stumps of her legs and swung her fist at me. It caught the side of my head with so much force I went sprawling sideways, banging my jaw on the floor and busting my lip.

Before I could even think about getting up, she was on top of me, wrapping surprisingly long fingers around my throat, crushing my windpipe. Realizing, slowly, what was happening, I tried to fight back, swinging my fists wildly.

One caught her in the throat, and she made a choking noise, letting go of me to clutch at her neck. I gasped in a breath and screamed, bucking enough to throw her off, and rolling to my hands and knees. The chains on my arms rattled as I climbed to my feet and ran, making a b-line toward the light.

Only to burst through a door and find myself in a white-lit room.

A room that filled me with paralyzing dread.

It took four days to get the knife and get back.

Four days of highways.

Four days of no pit stops, and no speed limit.

Four days sleepless.

And four days that neither of them thought they had to waste.

When their tires finally crunched over the familiar gravel in Bobby's driveway they breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief. Short-lived, when Bobby appeared in the doorway, face a pale mask.

Dean gunned the accelerator and the impala leapt across the last few hundred feet, sliding to a stop just shy of the bottom porch step. The two of them climbed from the car, the blade clutched in Sam's hand, and sprinted into the house. Bobby rambled out a breakdown of everything they'd missed, leading them down to the panic room. And when Dean saw his sister, skin pale, sweat pouring down her face even as her body shook with chills, his heart leapt into his throat.

He held his hand out to Sam and gave him a grim look. And the kid knew right away. With a short nod he slipped the blade into his waiting hand and turned on their surrogate uncle.

"Bobby? You got anymore of that Dream root?" he demanded, as Dean approached their sister, dragging a chair along with him. The conversation continued as they moved away up the stairs, and Dean slumped into the chair, swiping his empty hand down his face.

They had taken too long. Ace was trapped inside her own mind with a Nightmare, and no way to fight it. He sighed harshly, anger tightening his throat.

"I'm so sorry..." he murmured, his voice rough, and he reached out to brush her hair from her face. His jaw clenched at the cold clammy feel of her skin and he pulled his hand back, pressing his fist to his lips.

She shifted, turning her head to the side, her face twisted in pain as her breath hitched and he perked up, waiting. But she simply moaned, her body reacting as though it had taken a physical blow, and she fell limp again. Hanging his head, Dean ran a hand through his hair, pausing to rub the back of his neck, exhausted.

"Dean!" he jumped as Sam pounded down the basement stairs and sprinted up behind him, a small canteen in his hand.

"It's done. You ready?" the kid barked, pulling out a pen knife. The elder hunter nodded solemnly, accepting the flask while Sam bent over their sister, gently pulling her hand out from under the quilts covering her. He nicked her thumb with the knife and Dean held out the container, catching a few drops of blood.

"Alright, here goes nothin..." he mumbled, and knocked back the pint-sized canteen, grimacing at the taste.

The flask fell from his hand as he slumped forward on the edge of the cot, and Sam retrieved it, worrying his bottom lip anxiously.


	8. Chapter 8

Eyes clenched shut, hands clamped firmly over my mouth, wedged in a dusty corner of the storage under the stairs, I could hear them fighting. Jake hid me here, promising me I'd be safe from him.

"Where is she, boy?!" He roared, and I could hear glass breaking.

"I told you. She's not here!" Jake snarled back, and then yelped, He hit him again.

"You're lying to me! I can smell it! Now tell me whe- She's down there isn't she?!"

I gasped, eyes flying open, and pushed myself farther into the corner, watching the door.

"No!" Jake cried, and He snarled at him to shut up, slamming something against the wall. It thudded so hard dust fell from the ceiling, and I felt it through the floor. A tiny whimper crawled up my throat, and tears misted my eyes.

The door creaked open, and light flooded my hiding place. I scuttled back behind some boxes, but there wasn't much room to hide behind them.

"Oh little bird." He called out, his cruel sing-song making me shudder.

"I see you." his voice turned deadly and he grinned like a hyena. His long arm flashed out and he grabbed me by the ankle, dragging me from my hideout while I screamed in terror. I dug my fingernails into the wooden floor, leaving behind a trail of scars in the grain. Jake lay against the wall, unconscious. His nose was bloody, and as He dragged me past him I clutched at his arm, crying out his name. But he didn't respond, he was so far gone that he couldn't.

"Stop your crying!" He roared and his fist descended on my back, cracking a rib with it's force. I wanted to scream from the pain but I swallowed hard, clenching my jaw shut. He dragged me into the kitchen and closed the door, letting go of me and going to the cabinet. I climbed to my feet, fidgetting, and waited.

After a few minutes He turned to me, holding a knife in one hand and a handkercheif in the other.

"Let's clip those wings little bird." He cooed, grinning crazily.

"No!" I screamed, and bolted, slamming the door open and trying to head for the front door. Somehow He caught up to me, taking hold of my arm in an iron grip and turning my body toward him. I kicked out, catching him in the shin, and He growled. Suddenly His fist crashed into the side of my head and I sprawled, dazed.

Then He was hailing down hits on me, and I could feel my bones creak under the pressure.

"Ace!" someone yelled. Another adult, one whose voice I didn't recognize. I reached out toward the voice with one feeble, shaking hand.

Dean stared around, confused.

What kind of nightmare had a white picket fence? He wondered breifly, then remembered, somewhat foolishly, that plenty of his did. A scream came from inside the apple-pie, two story country house in front of him and he sprinted toward the front door.

His stomach turned somersaults as he fought with the lock, hearing another agonized scream. He realized, with horror, that it sounded like someone was torturing a little girl.

"C'mon!" he snarled, jiggling the lock pick again and not hearing a click. Something thudded heavily to the floor and he cursed, a muffled pounding following shortly after. The lock popped and he huffed.

"Finally!" he spat and practically ripped the door open.

"Ace!" he shouted, mortified by what he saw. She reached one shaking hand out to him, her tormentor barraging her tiny body with clenched fists.

"You sonofabitch!" Dean roared, charging at the man. He threw his shoulder into him and sent him stumbling toward the wall, chasing him with flying fists. With a handful of well aimed hits, Dean sent the man tumbling into unconsciousness, his head hitting the floor with a bounce.

His chest heaving, the oldest Winchester fell to his knees. Scooping up the small girl he'd assumed was his sister, he gently cradled her against his chest.

"Talk to me sweetheart, c'mon." he urged, brushing her dark hair away from her pale cheeks and willing her eyes to open. She drew a ragged breath and her eyelids fluttered apart, revealing clear grey eyes.

Staring up at him like a frightened animal, she wrapped her arms around her aching chest. He breathed a sigh of relief, resting his cheek on top of her head as he pressed her tiny body against his chest.

"Oh Jesus, you're alive!" he breathed, chuckling in amazement.

"Wh-who...the hell are you?!" a boy demanded, and Dean twisted around to see Jake, teetering precariously, with his fists raised to fight. Ace peered around Dean and Jake relaxed a bit, then bristled.

"Let her go!" he spat, peircing Dean with a glare.

"Easy kid, I'm here to help." the hunter said softly, holding out one hand toward him. He regarded the appendage as though it were a coiled serpent and bared his teeth.

"Ace! Get away from him! Now!" he snapped, glaring daggers at Dean. Ace peered up at Dean and looked back at Jake, her eyes tightening in confusion.

"He saved me...Daddy hit me...he stopped him." she replied, her soft, sad voice cutting Dean to the core. His chest constricted and he glanced down at her sadly. But when she looked up at him, she smiled hopefully, and that's when the pain really hit him.

The man's eyes clenched shut as he gasped, clutching at his chest, and I scrambled to my feet, backing away.

My eyes flew to Jake, but my brother wasn't watching me. He was glaring at the man that saved me, and there was so much hatred in his eyes.

I cowered away from it, backing toward the front door, and the man cried out, sobbing in pain. His arm shot out toward me, and I saw something shiny clenched in his fist.

"Ace! Take this! You have to kill...the Nightmare!" he ground out, then he gasped, bowing forward and hacking up blood. I scurried over, snatched the gift from him, and bolted away to look at my prize.

The ivory handle gleamed, pearlescent, carved with unrecognizable symbols. And the silvery blade practically glowed, curved like a scimitar. Jake barked my name and I jumped, my focus snapping to him. Something was wrong with his eyes. I took a step backwards.

"Give it to me!" he ordered, holding his hand out toward me, and I shook my head.

Why was he acting this way?

"Dammit Ace! I'm your brother, trust me! Give me that knife!" he yelled, stalking toward me and grabbing me roughly by the arm. He shoved me and I stumbled back, my cracked ribs protesting painfully. My heart skipped a beat, mouth falling open. Jake would never...

"No...your not my brother!" I cried, and buried the blade in his shoulder. He reared back, screeching inhumanly, and threw me against the wall behind me, driving the air from my lungs. I slumped to the floor, my head lolling to the side as I fell.

The man from before fought to sit upright, blood trailing down his chin. He threw himself into Jake, pinning him to the floor. Then, wrenching the knife free, he plunged it into Jake's heart, pulling another screech from him. My eyes rolled up in my head and blackness washed over me.

Opening my eyes felt like trying to weight-lift with my eyelids, but I managed to pull it off. Slowly the blurred edges of my surroundings coalesced into a familiar sight.

The panic room. I sighed and turned my head, scanning the room. Next to me one of the boys was slumped on the edge of the cot, Bobby's "Subtle knife" in hand.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when they shot upright, gasping and coughing violently for a moment. Then they were touching my cheek, feeling my pulse, wiping my forehead.

"Ace?" he asked, agitated and anxious, and I sighed.

"Dean." I whispered, and as he rested his hand on my cheek I leaned into his touch. My body felt so weak and achy. And cold, I realized as I shivered violently.

"M'cold." I breathed, reaching toward him with a shaking hand. He shifted and stood, lifting up the blankets.

"Scoot." he murmured, and I tried to comply, shifting minutely.

"Can't." I grumbled, and he chuckled at the childish tone in my voice.

"That's okay. I gotcha." he assured me, and put my arm over his shoulders, lifting me into his arms, then climbing onto the cot and letting my body slide off to his side. I sighed and tucked myself against his warm chest, resting my head on his arm.

He tucked the blankets around me and wrapped me up in his arms, kissing my temple.

"Th'nks D'n..." I whispered and he smiled against my skin.

"You got it kiddo." he replied, his voice rough. My hand sought out his amulet and I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling real sleep creep up on me.

For a moment I felt a pang of fear and I forced my eyes open, trying to sit up. Dean shushed me, easing me back to the mattress.

"No! Don' make me sleep Dean. Please!" I whimpered, and his arms tightened protectively.

"Ace, it's alright. I'm here. I've got you. It's over now." he murmured softly, his thumb caressing my back. I let his words sink in, relaxing slowly into his embrace.

"R...really?" I asked, feeling for all the world like the vulnerable child from my nightmare. Dean drew a thumb across my cheek.

"Really." he assured me, and I half-sighed, half-sobbed, my worn out body going limp.

"Ohgodfinally!" I whimpered, and closed my eyes.

For the first time in a week and a half, I sought sleep.


End file.
